


"It didn't have to be you."

by TheWeirdOneL



Series: All The Times Irondad Broke and Mended My Heart [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, I love the pain, Poor Tony, also this is a may parker appreciation fic, and her and tony are such good co-parents, and they love eachother, and uh yeah, anyways theres reference to the avengers but i only mentioned rhodey cause i love him, because i love may, because infinity war and yeah, but its enough, ficlets i guess, i ended writing 1.3k words and i was like this... this not enough, i just love the irondad spiderson dynamic dont @ me, if anyone disagrees they can suck my dick about it, so like this is a thing i did, theres implied ironstrange, theres not that much pain here, theyre all a family idc, you know he goes through so much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-20 22:56:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15544008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWeirdOneL/pseuds/TheWeirdOneL
Summary: Tony Stark is tired of always losing Peter.A nice, sad, but also happy little chicken ficlet based on the prompt: "It didn't have to be you."





	"It didn't have to be you."

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm in a slump. A writing slump. A dirty old writing slussy. And how does one get over a slussy? They write more! AKA: I found like 40 dialogue prompts and over the next few weeks, or just over the summer, I plan on writing all of them for my beautiful Irondad and Spiderson.  
> And this is the first! So enjoy my attempt at forcing myself out of my writing block <3

It was a late Tuesday afternoon when Tony Stark got a call from a hysterical Aunt May. He was in the middle of a meeting when the call came through - some boring, uneventful debriefing of a mission himself and the other Avengers had completed just earlier that morning. May Parker was one of the few people in Tony's life, along with her troublesome teenage nephew, whose calls were never muted under any circumstances, and the Avengers knew it. There were just some people more important than the world and all of its technicalities, and the Parker's were those people. So when the call came through the room fell into a unanimous hushed silence, and not a single angry glare was shared as May’s sobbing broke through the other end. Rather, a cruel sense of foreboding washed over the room. It was too much for Tony to hope that it was a false alarm. Something in him knew the response to the question brewing on his tongue, knew why she was crying and who over. But, still, with his chest pounding painfully against his skin, he asked,

“What’s going on, May?”

“You need to get to the hospital, Tony,” she sobbed, “He’s dying.” And Tony went blank, because he didn’t have to ask who.

The phone dropped down onto the table as his arms went numb. Somewhere, he could hear the words ‘doctor’ and ‘please’ and ‘save him’ being called out, but it seemed too distant. Everything seemed distant. Something was wrong with Peter. He was _dying-_ how could he be dying? Tony had just seen him the previous night; they’d been working on one of his dumb history projects and he’d been _fine_. Hell, he’d face-timed him that morning before he went on the mission and the kid had been _fine_. He’d been all bright smiles and all jumbled words with his stupid “Be careful, Mr. Stark!” and “You’re going to battle a mutant crocodile, that’s so cool!” How could he be dying only a few hours later? God, did that even matter right now? His kid was dying, and where was he? Sat in some stupid debriefing room, surrounded by millions of voices and none of them were Peter. Voices that had started shouting and screaming at him - or, at least, it sounded like they were. Everything sounded loud and painful; it was like everyone was shoving him and pushing him and stuffing knives into his ears and throat. He couldn't deal with it anymore, he had to find Peter.

“I- I need to go-” he just barely managed to say, pushing himself up from the wide table and rushing out of the room.

There were people following him, footsteps racing after him asking question upon question and someone was answering May but he couldn’t make out who was who. All he could hear on repeat were the words _‘he’s dying’, ‘he’s dying’, ‘he’s dying’_ , like some cruel broken record player. All he could see was Peter, dying. In choked sobs. In a lake wrapped in a faulty parachute. In the midst of rubble and bloodied water. In sand and fire and metal claws. In dust. God, it had been too many times. How could one small, lovable child reach out and nearly touch Death so many times? How could he let that happen? How could Tony _still_ let him get so close after everything they’d been through?

“Tony,” a voice called by his side as he felt his armour wrap tight around his skin. “ _Tony_ , listen to me,” it called out again. In a moment of clarity, Tony looked over and saw Rhodey in his own suit.

“He- He needs me,” he whispered out, his throat dry and cracking and choked by the pain in his chest. Rhodey seemed to hear him, because his eyes went soft around his armour and Tony felt a weight on his shoulder that felt comforting. It grounded him. Rhodey always had that effect on him. Years of experience, he supposed.

“He’s going to be okay, Tones. We’ve called Strange, he knows what to do. But you need to have a calm head going into this, alright? May said he’s in bad shape and you won’t be doing him any favours if you’re on the brink of a panic attack.”

Tony took in a deep breath, and nodded his head slowly. Rhodey was right. Peter couldn’t see him like this, it wouldn’t help. And Stephen? Hell, Stephen could fix anything. Of course he could. Even better, Stephen liked Peter, and he liked Tony aswell. So he wouldn’t let him die, he would never let Peter die. Everything was fine, everything would _be_ fine, and all Tony had to do was get there in one piece and plan a whole epic dialogue to lecture Peter with when he was okay again. Because he _would_ be okay again. He always would.

“Tony? You good to go?” Rhodey asked, and he appreciated the worry laced in his voice. Peter really had wormed his way into everyone’s hearts.

Tony looked behind him, seeing all the other Avengers staring at him in equally worried anticipation, and nodded his head.

“Yeah,” he said, and soon he was in the air.

 

* * *

 

 By the time Tony and the others had arrived at the hospital, Peter was close to okay. Close. It had only taken no less than two seconds for the horde of superheros to find their way to the kid, followed by a group of shouting nurses begging them to stop rampaging through the hospital. Tony had ignored all of them, the voices of everyone around him muted by the rushing blood in his ears. It was only when he saw Peter, laying in the bed with scrunched up eyes and a pained expression on his face that Tony could feel and hear again. Stephen and May looked over, their stern faces relaxing ever so slightly at his presence. He didn’t know why. 

The Avengers stayed by the door as he stumbled in, the armour around his body dissipating as he moved to May’s side and kneeled down by the bed. On Peter’s right, Strange was working his magic on an exposed, bloodied shoulder. Tony didn’t understand the logistics of it - never did truly understand Stephen’s magic no matter how many nights they’d spent together with him trying to unravel it and Stephen rolling his eyes saying it wasn’t something to understand. Right now, he didn’t care to understand it. He just wanted it to work.

“Talk to him, please,” May said, her voice broken and worn with tears. She was holding onto Peter’s hand for dear life, his pale skin stained with her tears. It took Tony a moment to realise she was talking to him.

“Yeah- Yeah, okay,” Tony muttered out, and placed his hand ontop of Peter and May’s.

The room was silent for a moment as Tony wracked his brain for something to say. Something magical and philosophical and life-changing. Something that could rival the golden sparks forming around the red and purple hole in his kid's shoulder. But nothing came. No wise words. No Tony-Stark-level genius speech that would wow everyone and have Peter suddenly wake up and be fine again. So, instead, he just spoke. Just like he did on the nights at the Tower when it was just the two of them, in the lab, opening up about their nightmares for the first time in each of their lives. Opening up about Titan, and the Vulture, and the Avengers. Just like he did on the days when Peter was feeling sick, or down, or both, and he needed a pick-me-up from his mentor turned possible father figure. He’d done this before, he could do it again.

“Hey kid, it’s your favourite superhero,” Tony started, and when he did he couldn’t stop. “I know you’re in a lot of pain, bud. Probably looking into some shitty light at the end of the tunnel, right? Well I’ll be the first to tell ya that you ain’t allowed to follow it, you hear me kid? And if there’s some guy with some shiny looking scythe you tell him your old man and your beautiful aunt said you’re not allowed to go today.”

He couldn’t help the choked sob that forced its way out of his throat as he spoke. He felt May’s hand squeeze his own, and he continued, because he _had_ to. A long time ago, Peter had helped him realise that sometimes the best words came from the heart instead of the brain. And maybe if Tony tried hard enough those words could save him.

“Christ, I need you back kid. I _need_ you. Who the hell else is gonna bother me when I’m trying to work on my armour? Who else is gonna force me to buy them loads of ice cream and then make me look after them when they end up getting sick from all that dairy, huh? Hell, you need to come back and look after _me_ , kid. I’m getting old and I need some youth to spill my philosophies to. I can’t- I can’t do that if you’re dead Pete. I can’t-”

Tony’s eyes widened when, without warning, the rhythmic beeping of Peter’s heart slowed, stopped, and flat-lined.

All of a sudden, May was screaming. Doctors were flooding into the room and Stephen was shouting something and Tony was being dragged away because he couldn’t move. _No_. _No, this can’t be happening_.

“Pete?” Tony called out, but not even he could hear his voice over the mayhem. “Kid? Peter?!” He was shouting now, calling out Peter’s name over and over again hoping to God that _maybe_ he could hear him. Someone had their hands on him, and they were dragging him away but he couldn't feel himself fighting like he wanted to. Everything went limp. His arms, his legs, his voice.

He was screaming but no sound coming out of his mouth, like his voice-box had been torn to shreds and thrown in the trash. Even in the bustling hallways outside of Peter’s hospital room Tony felt like the world had gone silent, and even his own screaming was lost in grief.

Something like hours passed, with Tony sitting on the cold seat of a hospital chair. He could still hear the flatlining, but the solemn, expressionless faces of the people around him told him nothing about whether it was real. After awhile, he didn't see the doctors leaving the room or entering it anymore. His eyes were too busy trained to the speckless, white tiles beneath his feet. Maybe, if he stared long enough, he would realise it was all a shitty nightmare. His eyes continued to stare, obsessively, and soon they closed, and he fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

A couple of incessant taps on his shoulder eventually woke him up, and Tony startled himself awake and stared up to find May looking at him with happy eyes.

“He’s awake, Tony. He’s okay,” she said, her voice quiet and _happy_. She was happy, and Peter was okay.

For a moment Tony couldn’t tell if it was real, or if he was still in some cruel nightmare and soon he would wake up and find himself at Peter’s funeral, standing above his grave with a flower in his hands ready to throw it in to the exposed ground beneath him. But when May placed a warm hand on his cheek and shook him again, he finally felt himself come to life. This was real. And Peter was okay.

It wasn’t until he stumbled back into the room and saw Peter, sitting up with a bashful smile on his face, with Stephen stood close by his side, that Tony finally felt himself relax. Felt himself able to breathe again. The Avengers filtered in behind him, but all he could see was Peter.

“Hey, Mr. Stark,” Peter’s voice called out, soft and tired. Tony hated the fear he heard in it, hated the obvious expectancy Peter had to be shouted at. There was no way he could reprimand him now. Later, maybe. But now? God, no. His kid was _alive_ , nothing else mattered anymore.

“Hey, Pete,” Tony replied, walking over with wobbling feet. May walked with him and together they sat on opposite ends of Peter’s bed, like they were the last two pieces in their weird four-puzzle family. She gave him a warm, thankful smile as he looked over at her, a smile that he knew all too well said ‘ _thank you for being here_ ’.

“I’ll leave you all to it, then,” Stephen said, his voice quiet and holding a tinge of awkwardness, directed mostly towards the group of other superheroes in the room. Tony didn’t like that either, but he knew Stephen had trouble trusting the other Avengers still, so he looked up and nodded without argument. The unspoken _“I’ll come back later”_ was written all over his eyes, and that satisfied Tony enough.

“Thank you, Stephen,” May spoke softly, the argument left out of her words too because she knew the man would return. He always did for their little makeshift family.

“Thanks, Doc,” Peter called out in a raspy voice as Strange half-disappeared into the portal. He turned back, flashed him a rare, soft smile, and finally disappeared.

The room went silent for a moment as Tony took it all in, his eyes wandering over Peter’s body to assess the damage. He didn’t have the time earlier; everything had been so blurry and chaotic, but now it all seemed clearer. A bandage over messy, bloodied curls, an IV line attached to a bruised arm, a massive bandage peeking out of a hospital gown where Peter’s left shoulder was slumped to the pillow. The latter almost killed him, but he was okay now.

“I got shot coming home,” Peter whispered, his voice weak and tired but still trying because Tony wasn’t the only one who thought he wasn’t going to see the light of day again. “I didn’t have my suit, but there was a hostage situation at one of the stores coming home, and I went in because I _had_ to save them, Mr. Stark. I _had_ to. So I snuck in through the back window because police were there and then I tried saving the hostages but one of the guys saw me and freaked out and shot me and-”

Tony raised a hand, and Peter stopped talking immediately. There were tears prickling the corners of his eyes, and Tony could practically see the fatigue clinging onto the boy like a leech. He wanted to be angry. He _really_ wanted to be angry, but he couldn’t. Peter Parker was just as much of a self-sacrificing little shit as he was, and it almost killed him, but he couldn’t be mad at Peter for it. No, not Peter. Of all the things that this kid could have taken after him, it just had to be that, didn’t it?

“It didn’t have to be you,” Tony whispered, feeling all the pain and all the worry pour out of his mouth. “There were police and people there and- It didn’t have to be _you,_ Pete.”

He didn’t care that he was crying, or that everyone could see the unbridled pain that must have been etched onto his face. He just didn’t care. He didn’t care how he must have looked when he pulled Peter in for a gentle hug and blocked out everything that anyone was saying. He almost lost his kid _again_.

“I’m sorry, Tony,” Peter said, and Tony felt tears seep into his shirt but he didn’t care. It just meant he was alive.

“You better be, kid,” Tony said, sniffing as he pulled away and placed a hand onto Peter’s cheek, wiping away the streams of tears rolling down his skin. “You’re not allowed to die on me again, you hear? I forbid it. One time is enough. If Death ever comes knocking again you tell him Tony Stark said you’re grounded forever.”

The laugh that came out of Peter’s mouth almost made everything better again. It made Tony smile, and breathe, and feel like he was more alive than he’d ever been before. He never wanted to be close to losing Peter ever again. He couldn’t.

If Death wanted to take his kid, he’d have to go through him.

 

* * *

 

 Peter was out like a light no less than an hour later. By hour two, the Avengers had filtered out of the room after saying their goodbyes and patting Tony on the shoulder on the way out. Now, it was just him and May. Two people who were nowhere near parents by blood, but who loved Peter Parker like they were anyway. They stayed in comfortable silence for a while, eyes flickering between each other, Peter, and the steadily beating heart beat on the screen above them. May was the first to break the silence.

“Thank you, Tony,” May spoke, reaching out to grab onto Tony’s cold, shaky hands. The nerves hadn’t left him, not that much. He’d probably still be shaking until Peter was home. Tony looked over, and gave a weak smile.

“I didn’t do anything, May,” he confessed. “I don’t think I ever do.” He looked back over at Peter, and with his free hand moved away a stray brown curl that only flopped back down onto his forehead.

“Now don’t you go selling yourself short, Stark,” May warned, and Tony almost laughed as he turned to see her face riddled with seriousness. It was the same type of look she gave him when she first found out about Peter’s hero identity, except this time he was a lot more comforted than scared. May Parker was not a woman to be argued with.

She didn’t give him a chance to speak as she continued, her eyes suddenly softening as she turned to Peter and started pouring her heart out. “He gets so close to death so many times,” she spoke, and her voice hitched but she continued anyway. There was no shame in crying here. “Sometimes I wonder if one day he’s going to stop fighting it. And then I remember he has you. I think he always comes back because of you. That’s why- That's why I wanted you to talk to him. You always find a way to bring my boy back.”

Tony smiled - a real, genuine, heartbroken smile that was full of happiness and love. He wanted to reach over and hug this woman and pull Peter in and never let either of them go. He really didn’t deserve the Parker family. He really didn’t.

“I think you’re the one selling yourself short, May. I'm not the only superhero here.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she said, and let out a quiet laugh as she lightly brushed away her tears. “You know, I had my doubts about you at first, Tony.”

“Don’t I know it,” he chuckled. God knows he got enough glares to kill a man in the first few months after May found out about Spiderman. Tony thought she’d never like him. If he went back in time and told his past self that the two of them would be here, laughing like this, he might’ve never believed himself.

“But now,” she continued, “I don’t think there’s anyone alive out there who could be as great of a dad as you’ve been to my baby. So thank you, Tony. Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

Tony Stark wasn’t one to wear his heart on his sleeve, but in that hospital room he felt no regret in letting every fear and worry, and every ounce of love and happiness seep out of him all at once. And when Stephen arrived later that night, and Peter woke up once again and they all watched some crappy movie on the television, and fell asleep curled up on that tiny hospital bed, Tony really felt like every crumpled piece of himself was being smoothed out and put back together again. He felt like he had a family.

And he wasn't about to lose this one.

**Author's Note:**

> When I write another one I'll make like a collection when I figure out how to do that looool  
> Anyway hope you all enjoyed! Sorry if anything about it sucked!


End file.
